


I Know You’re Gone But I Want You To Stay

by harrysblossoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Crying, Dead Dean Winchester, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Breakdown, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Past Character Death, Post-Dean Winchester's Death, Read at Your Own Risk, this made me cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 13:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrysblossoms/pseuds/harrysblossoms
Summary: The day Dean Winchester died was the same day Castiel died. But whilst one floated peacefully to heaven, the other’s world turned into hell.





	I Know You’re Gone But I Want You To Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [don't leave me.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13061757) by [helenblqckthorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenblqckthorn/pseuds/helenblqckthorn). 

> This is a rewrite of 'don't leave me.' by helenblqckthorn. They wrote theirs on Malec and I thought this would fit Dean and Cas so I changed it to Destiel. They're extremely talented! Go check them out. Most of the stuff is the same as helenblqckthorn's apart from the little changes I made to make it make sense in the Supernatural fandom :)

He slams a twenty down on the counter, his eyebrows furrowed and fingers tapping impatiently. His eyes burn a hole in the shopkeepers head, and she gulps nervously and scurries off.

She returns two minutes later with the ingredients, which Castiel squints at before grunting and tucking them into his trench coat.

He storms out of the door, slamming it so hard behind him that the small bell falls off the door onto the ground.

No one crosses his path. Who would get in the way of an angry, tall, all-powerful angel?

Castiel doesn’t stop to look at the stalls of the market like he used to. He doesn’t stop to admire the honey made from the bees. His pace is quick, efficient, and purposeful.

The man beside him chuckles to himself.

“What?” Castiel snaps.

“Never hurts to be nice to someone, Cas,” Dean says, grinning lazily and effortlessly keeping pace with him.

Castiel's lips quirk into an almost smile in spite of himself, but scowls immediately when he sees Dean’s eyes crinkle in effort of not laughing.

“Doesn’t pay to make fun of people, Dean,” Castiel says in a mock patronising voice.

Dean softens at once. “You know I’d never make fun of you.”

Castiel can feel a lump in his throat. “I know.”

* * *

He stands at the window, tapping the glass in his hand rhythmically. He really should sort that out, but it’s become sort of a nervous tick at this point.

“All I’m saying, Cas,” Charlie says in a soft voice, “Is that you know you can talk to me.”

“I know that Charlie,” Castiel says impatiently, “You don’t need to be so condescending.”

Charlie raised her eyebrows. Usually this would have an effect on people, making them feel uneasy, but Castiel didn’t flinch.

“She’s only trying to help,” Dean offers from the corner he’s slouching in. Castiel barely spares a glance at him before returning to his silent stand off with Charlie.

Charlie ignores Dean, which sends a spark of annoyance down Castiel’s spine. “If you’re just going to stare at me,” Castiel says before taking a gulp of his drink, “the door is right there.”

“He doesn’t mean it.” Dean tells Charlie.

Charlie doesn’t acknowledge him. She gets up, as if she were expecting this to happen, and walks out the door. Castiel only feels a twinge of regret.

“You’re pushing a lot of people away.” Dean comments.

“What else is new,” Castiel mutters in response.

“Don’t worry. You still have me.” Dean smiles softly at him, and Castiel can feel a physical clench around his heart, but doesn’t show it.

“Well that’s a relief,” Castiel says dryly.

Dean laughs. The sound echoes in Castiel's ears. 

* * *

Rowena drones on about some matter concerning demons and a spell, and Castiel tunes it out.

“Pay attention.” Dean scolds him mockingly. He’s sitting on the edge of the kitchen table in the bunker, swinging his legs back and forth.

Castiel doesn’t reply to him, but instead rolls his eyes at Dean.

Rowena coughs. Castiel turns his eyes to her and raises them in question.

“Is this too boring for you, Castiel?” She asks.

“Not particularly,” Castiel flatly replies. She had obviously spotted his eye roll.

Rowena turns back to her books and continues to speak. Castiel chances a glare at Dean, who shrugs his shoulders, grinning.

“We could get out of here,” he whispers, his eyes huge and bright and close, and Castiel buries his head in his hands.

“No.”

“You alright Cas?” Sam says quietly beside him. He jerks his head up to see Sam looking mildly concerned, and tries to nod convincingly.

Sam tries to give him a sympathetic smile. He fails.

* * *

Castiel knocks back another whiskey, already feeling the fuzz of drunkenness close around his mind.

He slides the glass back to the bar man. “Another one,” he slurs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink this much,” Dean comments from the stool next to him.

“Piss off.” Castiel says, stumbling over his words. “Go away.”

“So rude,” Dean smirks. “I’ll leave if you want me to.”

He starts to get up to leave, and panic seizes Castiel like a bucket of ice being poured over him. “No!”

The bar man glances up, startled, but sees Castiel and decides he’s just another poor drunkard. Its funny — Castiel never thought he’d become one of them.

Dean doesn’t look very surprised. “I’ll stay.” He says softly, and sits back down beside him. “I won’t leave you.”

Castiel smiles in spite of himself. “Oh Dean. We both know that’s not true.” It’s the first coherent thing he’s said all evening.

Dean looks confused, and then the bar man slides another whiskey towards him.

Castiel doesn’t remember a lot after that.

He wakes up with a warm body next to him, but it’s not the bunker, it’s not his sheets.

He rolls over to see a man with a mop of dirty blonde hair laying beside him, asleep. They both aren’t wearing any clothing.

Castiel doesn’t need to look that far to know what happened last night. He rolls back over to gaze and the wall, and Dean’s standing there by the window, watching him with a half smile.

Castiel feels a nausea that has nothing to do with his hangover. He sits up halfway, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and croaks, ‘I’m sorry.’

Dean shakes his head and smiles, ‘You don’t have anything to be sorry for.’

Castiel settles back into the pillows, and closes his eyes, so that even for a brief moment, he can pretend everything’s alright. “But I do,” he whispers, guilt choking his words.

* * *

It happens many more nights. He goes out, gets drunk, and sleeps with someone. It doesn’t matter who they are, they’re all nameless to him anyway. Castiel doesn’t realise that they all share something in common. Their name begins with an ‘D’, their eyes are a bright green, their hair is blonde like the sand on the beach, but he doesn’t take time to notice.

Dean is always there. He’s standing over him as Castiel runs his lips down a person’s chest, he’s laying his head on Castiel’s pillow and just breathing with him, he’s sitting in the corner when the morning arrives.

He’s making the guilt rise in Castiel’s stomach without giving him a disappointed look, he’s making Castiel wince with his blunt honesty, which is a trait he loves about him, he’s gently reminding Castiel that he needs to move on.

Castiel doesn’t.

* * *

Someone must have told Jack about Castiel’s poor mental state, because he's come to pick Castiel up from the bar and flies him to the bunker. Castiel feels woozy from one too many drinks, so he slumps onto the sofa.

Jack fixes him up a hangover cure for the morning, then sits opposite him, next to Dean, watching Castiel warily.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Jack’s patience wears thin. “You’ve got to stop living like this Cas,” he says in a flat, toneless voice.

Castiel knows perfectly well what Jack is talking about, but he decides to play the drunkard card. “Live like what?” He deliberately slurs.

Unfortunately, Jack knows how to read him, so he glares at him and stands up, his hands shaking. “Like this,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion, gesturing to the empty takeout containers, the upturned furniture, the bottles of alcohol littered around the place.

Castiel shifts so he’s looking at the ceiling. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

“Cas. Please.”

The desperation in his voice makes him ache, but he won’t give in. He closes his eyes.

He can hear Jack give a shaky sigh, and walks over to help Castiel up. “Where’re you taking me,” Castiel grumbles as Jack lifts an arm up.

“To your bedroom,” Jack replies in a sort of exhausted voice.

Castiel snatched his arm out of his grip and rolls back onto the sofa. “I’ll stay out here tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like it.”

“No need to be so petulant towards Jack, Cas,” Dean comments mildly while flipping his newspaper pages. Castiel makes a half groaning, half sighing noise and tells him he’d just prefer to stay out here tonight.

Jack slams the door on the way out.

It’s a total lie - Castiel hasn’t stayed in his bedroom since before that night. He can still feel the rain and blood soaking his hands as -

“He’s all alone, Cas. He hasn’t mastered his powers yet. You need to give him some support.”

Castiel rolled so that he could face Dean's steady green eyes. “You’ve always been better at helping people. Why don’t you?” Castiel asks, but his words slur so it comes out as jumbled gibberish. But Dean understands him. Dean always understands him.

Dean shakes his head and puts the newspaper down.

“Cas - you know none of this is real.”

“Isn’t it?” Castiel says idly. “I was so sure.”

Dean gives him that look that makes Castiel feel transparent, and he opens his mouth and words start pouring out.

“You want me to admit that this is all in my head? That you’re just a part of my imagination? That I’ve been pushing everyone away selfishly? Even Jack who’s like a son to me? That I’m living in a hovel? That my mental health is deteriorating? That you’re -”

Castiel stops, unable to say what he was about to have said. He hadn’t realised that he’d stood up, his whole body shaking. He turns back to look at Dean, but there’s no one there.

He crumples into a heap on the floor, heaving breaths but somehow not being able to take the oxygen in.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there. 

* * *

“Cas…”

“Please, Dean, hold on, please, I’m trying but it’s not working-” 

* * *

The one-night stands are becoming more frequent, and Dean isn’t there to hold Castiel back, so he kisses random people with traits in common with Dean, he sometimes sleeps with them, but it’s not enough. Never enough.

No one comes by to visit him, his room is a tip and Castiel is so drunk all of the time he’s not sure how he forms coherent sentences.

He sees Dean in flashes of his peripheral vision.

* * *

“Why isn’t it working, Sam, help me- ”

* * *

The bar man comes to know his name, he knows his order by now but stops Castiel from drinking too many. Castiel doesn’t care, but without the bar man he’d probably get some form of alcohol poisoning. 

* * *

“I need to tell you something-”

“No, you’re going to get out of here fine, everything’s going to be fine-”

“Cas…”

* * *

He never laughs anymore. He never smiles. 

* * *

“I love you.”

“I- Dean- Please-” 

* * *

The door cracks open in his living room and Castiel winces from the light. He doesn’t bother to sit up, knowing that whoever it is will announce themselves.

“Cas.”

Ah.

He winces again, but internally this time.

“Sam.” His voice is so rough it was hard to speak at all.

He feels a dip in the couch beside him. He frowns. When had he closed his eyes?

Sam sighs, brushing his knotted, matted hair out of his face. Castiel leans into his touch, letting himself believe that everything was alright for just one second.

“Do you know the last thing Dean said to me before he died?”

His heart almost stops.

Castiel pushes his hand off his head and gets to his feet backing away from Sam. “Dean,” he says, his voice shaking, “is not dead. ”

“Cas-” Sam sighs.

“No! ” He yells, and he can see shock on Sam’s face. “Stop lying!”

Sam stands and begins to walk over to him slowly. “You need to accept it. Running won’t do you any good.”

“Stop.”

“Dean’s-”

“Shut up! I said stop!”

Sam is inches away from him now, he’s backed up against the wall, panting. He’s gripping something in his hand, a piece of paper.

“He-” his voice cracks, “he gave this to me, before he died,” he continued, even though Castiel flinches, “I guess he had been carrying it around for a while.”

Sam drops the paper into his hand, and Castiel closes his eyes for a minute, taking shallow breaths.

He unfurls the crumpled slip of paper, taking an immeasurable amount of time. It’s open, and Castiel can see Dean’s scrawled handwriting.

_“Don’t let him be alone.” _

Castiel hadn’t cried when Dean had died. He hadn’t cried when they burned him. He hadn’t cried all these months, wasting away while imagining Dean was alive and right beside him, but he cried now.

He slid down the wall, paper clutched to his chest, and broke down.

Castiel heaved out choking sobs, howls that left him unable to move, and curled himself onto the ground.

He wept for the weeks of hollow aches in his chest, he wept for Sam, who was probably feeling what he’s feeling, but Castiel was too selfish to give him comfort. He lay there and cried for what seemed like hours, not even violent sobbing, but the type of crying that left you unable to move. He vaguely recalls Sam taking him into his bedroom, where he hasn’t been since the night Dean died.

He curls into the sheets, breathing in the scent Dean left behind on one of his flannel shirts he’d dropped on Castiel’s bed, and eventually passes out from exhaustion.

* * *

“Dean!”

Castiel’s cry echoes through the street, and he nearly trips over the road several times before dropping down to Dean, laying on the street, bleeding out.

“There were too many of ‘em,” Dean groaned, his eyelids drooping. Castiel frantically searched for the wound, but there were so many it was hard to tell which was the main one. He lifted up Dean’s shirt and felt his mouth go bone dry.

Part of Dean’s chest had been actually clawed out, and there was a greenish tinge around of the edges of the wound which suggested poison. Castiel’s breath started to come erratically, but even more so when he saw that Dean had closed his eyes.

He shook Dean, causing his eyelids to flutter open again. “Stay with me,” Castiel ordered. “We’ve done this a million times.” He pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead, hoping it’ll do something for Dean’s wounds. It didn’t do anything.

It wasn’t working, why wasn’t it working?

“Cas…”

“Please, Dean, hold on, please, I’m trying but it’s not working- ” Castiel said, with a lump in his throat.

“Cas-”

“Why isn’t it working, Sam, help me -” Castiel yelled for Sam, he was supposed to be here, why wasn’t he here-

“I need to tell you something-”

“No, you’re going to get out of here fine, everything’s going to be fine-” Castiel reassured himself-

“I love you.” Dean croaked out, raising one hand with tremendous effort to touch Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel leaned into it unconsciously, hands still pressing at Dean’s forehead, but it wasn’t working, why wasn’t it working-

“I love you,” Dean repeats, fainter this time, but he smiles, and it’s the same smile Castiel fell in love with, the same smile that simultaneously broke and made his heart every time it was directed at him-

“I- Dean- Please-” Castiel gasps out.

His smile reaches his eyes, and his hand falls, and there’s no pulse, and Castiel is screaming and clutching Dean's body, his angelic abilities run haywire and convolutes off of his body, and there’s no life left, no Dean, and he can hear Sam and Jack running towards him and sobbing, Sam is screaming too, and Jack is there weeping, and the boys are there, clutching at each other, and Castiel can’t remember anything else -

* * *

It had been a long hunt. Castiel had gotten injured on this one and Dean was fussing over him in the back seat of the impala.

Dean was hesitant to allow Sam to drive Baby but had instantly forgotten about it when he heard Cas groan in pain from the backseat.

Dean leapt into the seat next to Cas and began to run his hands all over Castiel’s body, searching for any open wounds. He knew Cas was an angel and he knew that his wounds would heal fast but that didn’t stop him from making sure he was okay.

It was a long drive back to the bunker and Cas felt as though he was going to pass out. Dean propped him up so Cas could lay his head on Dean’s shoulder and breathe in the scent of him. Dean did the same.

Dean rarely showed intimacy so Sam, when he stopped at a red light, dug out his old phone and snapped a picture of the two of them cuddling in the back. Castiel’s eyes were closed, his whole body pressed up against Dean. Dean’s eyes were closed too, his face pressed into Castiel’s messy hair. His arms were tight around Castiel’s body, as if he thought that if he let go, Cas would disappear.

That was the first time Dean held onto Cas for more than just five seconds.

* * *

The picture is pinned to the right wall of Castiel’s bedroom, where thousands of other pictures of Dean are put up.

Castiel stares at that one for a while.

* * *

The day Dean Winchester died was the same day Castiel died. But whilst one floated peacefully to heaven, the other’s world turned into hell.


End file.
